The Importance of Being Ezreal
Chapter 3
His bed sheets were coarse compared to the thousand thread count sheets Draven insisted on. He thought about replacing them with the some of his own, but decided against it as he didn't want to be reminded. He would just have to get used to it.
He swung his legs onto the bed and pulled the blankets over him, feeling the familiar motions kick into place. This was his home. This was his bed.
He laid there, waiting for sleep to overtake his mind, to drag him under to unconsciousness, to a place where he didn't have to think—where he couldn't think. He tried closing his eyes, just to see a glimpse of it. It was so close, right before him, just a step further. Taunting him. Just a few inches. Just reach out. But tightly packed between them was his troubles and he exhaled slowly, feeling anguish bubble in his chest, threatening to rise and to spill and destroy the odd peace he was in. He was numb all over with exhaustion, though his mind was alarmingly clear, free of emotion. Tonight, he will sleep. By morning he will rise. If summoned, he will fight. If not, he will train. Unambiguous, lucid, obvious. Simple was life now.
He opened his eyes and slipped a hand out of the blankets and ran it along the bedsheets, trying to feel, trying to take in the sensation of a real, physical object. Dismayed, he felt nothing. Closing his eyes once more, he finally began to feel the small licks of slumber that ran up to his shoulders before taking down his mind.
Here, in the suspension of consciousness, he floated. Silence was present all around, smothering him in it without the intention to let go. It was dangerous to be alone in his own thoughts. His eyes fluttered weakly, trying to wake from the dream. But slumber was too strong, relentless, and held him tightly, rasping out promises of eternal loneliness. It cradled him, making soothing noises juxtaposed with the horrors assured. Ezreal felt no objection to that and did not struggle. He let it take over.
"How are the decorations coming along, Vi?" Jayce asked, removing his boots. He leaned against the wall and unbuckled his footwear as Vi locked the door with a weary sigh.
"Bad," she said. "I'm not too good with this stuff." Jayce chuckled lightly, beginning to work on his other foot.
"Where's Caitlyn?"
"Food duty."
"Oh, wow, you guys already did everything," he said with mild surprise. He straightened up, frowning, "What's left for me then?" Vi smirked.
"You're on birthday boy duty."
"You guys know I'm not good at lying."
Vi shrugged and flicked a piece of confetti off of her shoulder. "Sorry, man. That's the only job left to do." She turned back into the living room to resume her decorating. "Anyways, Ezreal has been out of it for the past two days. Saw him yesterday, coming out of a match. Doesn't look like he was too preoccupied with thoughts of his birthday."
"He probably forgot," Jayce said with a small smile. He looked at the sorry mess she had made of the walls. "Wouldn't it better if I decorated?" She tossed a ring of streamers at him, defeated.
"Don't think you just got yourself out of birthday boy duty," she drawled, taking a seat on her couch.
He rolled his eyes and began tugging at the twisted ropes of colourful paper, trying to align the monster she had created. He turned back to the creator over his shoulder, "Say, didn't you guys want Draven to come, too?"
She sat up, alarmed.
"Right!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands together. "I forgot!" Jayce turned back to the decorations, slightly frustrated with the tape. He tried to pry his fingers apart with little success. "I'll just go find him tomorrow. Or something."
"You don't look too enthusiastic about it."
She laughed, shaking her head. "And I was the one who came up with the idea."
"That's hard to believe."
"And harder to believe Cait had agreed, no?"
"I guess."
Vi lazed on the couch, clearing relieved that she no longer had to decorate as she watched Jayce. They chattered mindlessly, letting the peaceful afternoon consume them, engulfing them in comfort and warmth. The air soon began to fill with the scent of vanilla and Caitlyn came out of the kitchen, drying her hands. She took one long look at Jayce dutifully doing the job Vi had been assigned and then promptly chided her for it.
"Vi, get back to work. Jayce, dear, have a seat. I have some tea and biscuits, if you want."
"Oh, come on, Cupcake! Look how great of a job he's doing!" Vi said, reluctantly rising from her comfy seat. "Better than what I can do, wouldn't you say?" Caitlyn eyed the streamers.
"Yes, but it doesn't mean he has to do all of it himself. At least help!"
In an attempt to relieve the tension, "How is the cake, Caitlyn?" Jayce asked, stepping away from the wall.
"Probably delicious, but we'll see how it rises," Caitlyn said with pride. "Here, I'll go get the tea. Biscuits?"
"Yeah, bring out the chocolate ones with the cream filling."
"Not you, Vi. Jayce?"
"Hm? Oh, yes, please."
Vi stalked the halls, looking for a certain egotistical Noxian executioner. She had a match in a few minutes and had hoped to find the champion before needing to go. She rounded the corners, checking match histories and current games. A large, hextech finger trailed down a list of names. Kha'Zix, Malphite, Lucian, Annie, Braum, Riven, Syndra, Morgana, Jarvan...
"Bingo."
She ran down the marble halls, uncaring of the looks she had received. She saw the time stamp of the game, noting it had just ended. If she was fast enough, she would be able to catch the marksman before he would leave. What fortunate coincidence that she would be able to catch him in time. That meant she wouldn't have to go searching after her own match. Her gloves whirred gently as she made her way through the Institute. Just her luck, Draven had his back turned to her, his blades polished in crimson. She called his name out loudly.
"Draven!"
He turned around and Vi found wariness in his eyes.
Of course. She hadn't been exactly the friendliest person before, but that didn't meant she couldn't start now.
She slowed down to a stop. "Hey, Ezreal's birthday is tomorrow and we were wondering if you'd like to get in on the festivities. You know. Like a surprise birthday party."
He listened patiently with an empty look.
How unlike him, Vi mused. He's usually so loud and quick to quip.
Then he sneered.
"Don't know if you've heard, lady, Ez and I are no more."
Vi faced him, forehead slowly wrinkling, face contorting angrily. The air was heavy and still, acting as ear plugs as time slowed. The concept barely entered her mind and was processing in tepid ticks.
It was too surreal.
Too sudden.
Vi simply did not expect it. As some sort of sick penance for her lack of preparation, she was forced to respond by being locked in front of the executioner in stunned silence.
Barely breaking from her stupor, she squeezed her hextech fists, itching to punch him square in the face, possibly enough to permanently disfigure his pompous mug. But she didn't. Years as a criminal taught her the skills to fight, but years as an officer taught her the skills of self-discipline. Instead of resorting to the violence she thought the Noxian so fully deserved, she instead chose a few choice words that would have her great-grandmother spinning in her grave. She must have spilled them a little too loudly because the hall fell silent, everyone present looking away, all a little shaken and a little scandalized. He made a noise of amusement, victory twinkling in his eyes. Like he was inviting her to brutally assault him. With the dwindling self-restraint she had, she just snorted in response and turned away. The metal whined in protest as she squeezed them harder.
She marched with stomping steps, still cursing under her breath all the way to her summoning chamber.
Vi could not concentrate the entire game. She punched away at the jungle monsters, mind preoccupied, chest tight. Damn Draven. Damn, damn, damn him. Why couldn't Ezreal have his heart taken by someone more agreeable? He just had to choose a Noxian! The epiphany of evil, selfish, disg—
"Vi!"
She froze, whipping her head around to try and find the source.
"Vi? Hello? Gank please?"
She nodded dully and gave the wraith a weak, though fatal, punch before she made her way down the ramp to the side bushes of the centre lane. She crouched, allowing the green blades to shield her from plain view, unless a stealth ward was placed in there with her. Right. Her trinket. She lazily scanned the bush, her disinterest showing through her performance. She was much more interested on how to unleash fury on the Noxian.
Her mind slithered away to the depths of violence and anger as the game dragged on.
Draven headed home after a defeat. He decided that as long as he killed, it should never be considered a "defeat". So that was that.
It was difficult to say if he was affected by the breakup.
On the superficial level, certainly. He lost a good blanket warmer and someone to have sex with. Though, he was sure the latter wasn't hard to find. After all, he was Draven, the glorious executioner. Who wouldn't want to get with that?
There were more definitely more positives than negatives. The house was quiet. Not too terrible. Quiet was good. Calm was welcome. And there was more food to be found in the fridge. And leftovers lasted twice as long. And he didn't have to share the bathroom. Now, that's a good one. He now had the bathroom all to himself.
And Darius. He was happy. But this was more than just for Darius—it was also for Noxus.
But Draven felt a bit off. Like he had done something not too good. Although he would like to go on and on and on about how much he didn't care, he really couldn't find himself doing that. So he cleaned his axes and sharpened them, opting to not think and to not feel. Just the familiar movements of wiping down the blades and sharpening the edges. Then he polished the gold accents for a good measure. It had distracted him for a while, a good chunk of the day, but he was then left alone with his thoughts in his quiet home. And he didn't like it. Not one bit.
Because he had figured out what emotions were haunting him. The emotions that made him feel bad and terrible, almost like an insistent cold. It was guilt and shame.
Those two hung heavily in his gut and Draven found himself insufficiently equipped to handle them. Draven never had to feel bad, because he never did anything bad. Draven was synonymous with flawless and faultless. Faultless except for the deaths of certain Noxian prisoners on their execution dates.
Those were definitely his doing.
He stood, hanging up his axes and grabbing a light coat, deciding to visit his dear older brother. He hoped Darius had prepared dinner for two.
Surprisingly, Darius had prepared dinner for two.
But he wasn't thinking about Draven.
In his typical disregarding and spontaneous manner, Draven had bursted into his brother's domain, talking loudly about his bad feelings and asking, twice, what was for supper. It wasn't until Draven had caught the piercing glare Darius bore when he had finally noticed the other person in the living room.
Now, along with the guilt in his gut, his mind was suddenly filled to the brim with questions, questions, questions. His mouth refused to communicate with him, opening and closing with no sound emitting. This had continued for a while until he finally was able to muster, "Wow."
The silence that followed was heavy. No one said a word.
"This isn't a good time, brother," Darius said lowly between clenched teeth.
"I can see that," Draven quipped, nodding.
Darius looked tired. More tired than usual. Knowing the thick headed oaf that was his brother, Darius laid out the game plan in a very graspable manner.
"You need to leave. Now."
Draven finally looked at him, skeptical. He then crossed his arms and leaned against the door jamb, refusing to leave. "No, brother, you've got some explaining to do."
"I'll explain after."
"Nope. Now."
"Just leave."
"Tell me first."
"Draven."
"Darius."
Darius had never before felt a stronger urge to strike his brother.
"Draven, I swear to the gods, I will hurt you if you don't get out now." He enunciated the words quite clearly, his patience wearing thin.
"So, when were you planning to tell me?"
"Never," Darius answered curtly. "This is none of your concern."
"So why was mine?"
Darius inhaled deeply.
Then, the third party spoke. "Just tell him. He already saw."
"No," Darius replied.
Jayce looked irked.
Darius turned back to his brother in a low, controlled voice, "Please leave. You and I will speak about this after." Draven felt the dangerous and deadly atmosphere seep in. It had been hiding behind the tight leash Darius held on his own emotions. He was not a reckless man, not at all, though he can be more than a threat when given a reason to. Draven nervously leaned back in the tiniest of movements, careful to not provoke his brother anymore. Darius was a man of strength and Draven was not foolish enough to anger him more than he needed to. He risked a smug grin, though.
"Fine. I'll go." As he turned away, he shouted, "Bye, Jayce! Bye, Darius!"
Darius scowled, muttering as he shut the door in his face.
"Your brother is obnoxious," Jayce commented.
"Yes, I know." Darius stalked back to the living room, rubbing his hands on his face, haggard and annoyed by the interruption.
"I'm surprised you let him stay with Ezreal, he doesn't exactly keep it on the down low," Jayce mused, inwardly retching at the memories of seeing the two and their public displays of affection. Darius remained silent as he sat back down on the couch. A grim expression set slowly on to Jayce's face. "Unlike us."
"He's not with Ezreal," corrected Darius. "Not anymore."
"What?" Jayce sat up. "Since when?"
"Recently."
"I—why? Ezreal hasn't said anything..," Jayce trailed off.
Darius looked away, his dark eyes scouring his walls. Jayce glowered at him.
"Don't tell me—"
"Noxians can't be seen with allies of Demacia—"
"—or else they will be seen as weak," Jayce finished, irritated. "Darius. I can't believe you." He stood up, furious now. "I can't believe you did that!" Darius rose as well, his height and frame easily towering over the Piltovian. "Ezreal adores him!" Jayce fumed.
"And who were the first to give that child hell for doing so?" Darius countered hotly.
That silenced Jayce. He pressed his lips together, forming a grim line. Bitter defeat pooled in his eyes as he sat back down. What Darius had said was true. But because of that truth, it was all the more reason for Ezreal to be happy with whom he wanted.
That's what Jayce believed.
Against his own judgement, the Noxian man joined Jayce on the couch and placed a tender hand on his back. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "For all of this to go this way. You must understand." Jayce smiled weakly at him.
"But when is it my turn? When do you have to understand me?" he asked. It was unfair, he knew. And if Caitlyn caught wind of the relationship, she would certainly scold him for being taken advantage of. And do worse to whoever was taking advantage of him. Jayce was tired. He was so very tired. He was tired of having to hide and sneak around, like a rambunctious teenager after dark. He was tired of always having to be on the edge, like what he had with Darius was a sinful crime. He wanted freedom.
But he knew Darius would never allow it. The Noxian man was keen on rising up the ranks and insisted on a picture perfect profile. No weaknesses. No attachments. And definitely no romantic links to an ally of the enemy.
It made day to day living like hell. He wanted to be openly in love. To be able to kiss or hug the man he chose to be with. It wasn't the idea of public display, just the thought of having the option. Even just to see Darius was a hassle. They had to be so secretive, so discreet, and Jayce wondered if the effort was worth it.
However, what pained Jayce the most was having to lie. He was not a liar. He was an honest man by heart. But this thing he had with the Noxian required him pretend the thing didn't even exist. He had to lie in the faces of his favourite people. And that made him feel like the lowest human being on all of Runeterra. Or even the universe.
Darius just gave him an apologetic look. "I do not have the answer to that."
"I love you, Darius," Jayce began.
"I know," Darius pulled him into his arms.
"Repeat it."
Darius seemed to be stuck. He looked far off in the distance, inches from Jayce's ear. He hesitated, then in a low murmur, "I love you, too."
Jayce closed his eyes. "Then why do you want to hide it so much?" Darius began to open his mouth. "No, I don't want your typical political nonsense. I just want to know why."
Darius thumbed his shoulder thoughtfully. Then he pulled away. "Because I want better lives for my people of Noxus. And this is just something I have to give up to do it."
Jayce listened, trying hard not be offended. 'Am I not as important as the people of your city-state?' he wanted to ask. But he already knew the answer.
No, he was only one compared to the hundred of thousands in Noxus. His one life was not greater than that many. But deep in his heart, he just yearned to hear that, yes, to Darius, he was worth it.
Jayce raised a hand and held Darius' jaw, the stubble tickling his palm. He looked into the grey eyes, ringed with stress. He leaned forwards and kissed him. "This is a recipe for disaster, no?" he asked quietly against his mouth.
Darius nodded numbly before kissing him again.
It was morning and it was both Jayce's favourite and least favourite time of day.
Darius looked like he was still asleep, his normally tense face relaxed with heavy stubble on his cheeks. Jayce got up on one elbow and watched the other man sleep. Morning was his favourite because of it's soft light and promise for a brighter day. But it was his least, because that meant he would soon have to leave the Noxian. At least for another day or two. He ran a calloused hand across Darius' collarbone, feeling the ridges of the scar tissues aligned there. He followed a particular line that led to downwards, towards his navel. It leaned slightly to the left and Jayce trailed a light finger and then rested his hand on Darius' side where the scar ended. On the places of old wounds, body hair did not grow, leaving thin criss crosses of bare skin in the wake of all the darkness.
Jayce always found Darius' body fascinating, a hearty and strong living piece of history. That was Darius.
"Found what you were looking for?" Darius grumbled, voice thick with sleep. Jayce leaned down and kissed him. "You're up early." The older man craned his neck, looking for the time. "Barely sunrise."
"Couldn't sleep," Jayce answered honestly. He laid back down, chest resting against Darius' shoulder and arms slung across his torso.
Darius stayed silent, as if wondering about the consequences of asking for an elaboration. "Why's that?"
Jayce pressed his nose to the man's prickly cheek. "I've been feeling guilty."
"For? What have you done this time?"
The Piltovian smiled with little amusement. "About Ezreal."
"Hm."
"It's unfair that I get to stay with you, while my friend, who doesn't even know about you, has to go through a breakup," Jayce murmured, ashamed. "And here I am, in bed with the man I love, while my friend is alone for his first night. I'm not a good person."
Darius listened patiently without a word.
"I am, in fact, selfish," Jayce said. Darius rolled over and clutched the man with both arms. He couldn't find it within himself to disagree or agree, so he settled with offering comfort. Jayce took it without arguing.
To Darius' dismay, Jayce continued with the self-deprecation, "I should have told him to keep it secret. I should have said something."
Darius was surprised by how much the whole situation bothered the Piltovian. He had never said anything before.
The Noxian tried to offer further comfort. "If anything, I should have warned Draven. I learned of it too late," Darius reflected. But it was too late now and his brother would have to pay the price. Was he supposed to feel guilty as well?
He lifted a hand and combed his fingers through Jayce's dark hair absentmindedly.
In the evening came the time to have the talk with Draven. The younger Noxian begrudgingly opened the door and let the elder in. "Don't give me that look," Draven whined.
"Did you tell anyone?" Darius barked as soon as the door slammed shut.
"No," Draven said. He paused, fumbling with the lock. "Why didn't you tell me?"
Darius gave him dubious look. "Like you could keep your damn mouth shut."
"Hey!" Draven objected, slightly offended. "I didn't mention a thing of the situation with your friend thing."
"Eighteen hours is not a lot of time, brother," Darius murmured, unconvinced. He entered the living room and sat down.
Draven followed with great reluctance, "Oh, no, it's going to be a long talk."
"Sit down, Draven." There was a certain sternness in his voice, one that Draven couldn't bring himself to fight. It was impatient and humourless and the younger brother was familiar with it, having grown up under Darius. A part of him still feared it, though experience showed something different. He was brusque, but not entirely unreasonable. At least, that's what he remembered.
After weighing his options, which all did not exist, Draven conceded with a dramatic sigh.
Author's Note: Playing with different styles, which may explain the lack of cohesion and awkward paragraphs. Hoping to finally grasp how I'm going to continue and complete this.
Again, thank you for reading and another thank you to those who have favourited, followed, and/or reviewed. Gives me great joy that someone out there is at least entertained by my words. Zjol.